Immortal Sins

By Maurice D. Winterborn

The Chained God, the protector of truth, power and knowledge, has reigned in the North for centuries. Now, dark forces rise in the South, threatening peace and stability of all united in his name.

New gods.

Cruel, dominant, wrathful.

The last bastion of the people has held strong for more tha

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maurice D. Winterborn
• Release date: Jan 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781802279740

Book preview

Prologue

‘A nd then the hero smote the monster that was terrorizing the village, his mighty hatchets removing the beast’s head. The thick, scaly body smashed to the ground with a loud thud. The day was saved. The village folk rejoiced at their hero, singing his name as they carried him through the streets.’

Dimitri was stunned at his father’s story as he sat cross-legged on the floor of his cottage next to his brother Aleksander. The smell of the chicken stew they had for dinner had faded, consumed by the smell of the embers from the fire as the darkness of night began to take hold and the sun fell behind the horizon. ‘What other things did the hero do, Papa? Was he hurt? Were there other monsters?’ Dimitri asked, wide-mouthed and stunned. He loved hearing his father’s stories. Little Aleksander next to him was too excited to speak.

Dimitri’s father laughed. ‘That’s enough for one night, boys; time for bed.’ He got up from his chair, placing his cup on the table next to him. He brushed some breadcrumbs from his blue cotton shirt and short brown beard.

‘Aww, but Father…!’ both boys called out in unison.

‘A bup, bup!’ Dimitri’s mother said teasingly as she walked past with a dish cloth. ‘It’s time for bed; growing boys need their sleep!’

‘Awww!’ Both boys sighed again in unison.

Their father smirked. ‘Listen to your mother, boys. The first step in changing the world is pulling yourself to your feet. And to do that, you need plenty of sleep.’ He helped his two young boys up. ‘Come on; bed.’

Dimitri reluctantly agreed, taking Aleksander’s soft little hand and leading him to their bedroom. His younger brother was already rubbing his sleepy eyes with his other hand.

‘Can we hear more about the country you came from tomorrow, Papa?’ Dimitri asked as his father was tucking him in. Aleksander was already half-asleep, cuddling his favourite teddy bear.

‘Of course, but tomorrow. Now, it’s time to sleep.’ Dimitri’s father kissed him on the forehead, blew out the candle and left, leaving the door open just a crack for a small amount of light to break through. ‘Good night, boys. I love you.’

‘Love you too, Papa!’

Dimitri rolled over, looking up at the ceiling and smiling. ‘Hero,’ he muttered to himself, unable to stop thinking about the story. ‘Carrying him through the streets,’ he muttered again. His dreams of heroism were quickly disturbed as he heard his mother and father in the hallway.

‘Vivaria has started to move again?’ Dimitri heard his mother ask.

‘Yes. Another son leads another legion. Tertia, they call him.’ His father sighed, leaning on the wall facing away from her.

Dimitri crept out of bed quietly, placing himself just before the crack in the door.

‘Will they come here?’

‘No, at least not yet. Their conquest in the south first; after that, I do not know.’

Dimitri thought he saw his mother fighting to hold back some tears.

‘And what of your order? Is it strong enough to help if the worst may come?’

Dimitri’s father ran his hands through his hair. ‘We have spies and agents throughout our side of the world. Even some in the other parts. If an attack happens anywhere, they will let us know.’

Dimitri glanced between his mother and father, forgetting about the story of the hero from earlier. He silently mumbled what his Father had said, wondering what it meant.

CHAPTER ONE

Lands ablaze

The forest was alive with flames and the sounds of deafening screams. A young man lay under broken tree branches and debris which had fallen from a nearby wooden shack. The shed was burning intensely, generating a thick cloud of smoke that gave the young man a splitting headache. Over the sound of flames, he could hear the intensity of a distant slaughter as the screams of many filled the hellish environment. The integrity of the burning shack gave way, crashing down to the ground. The sudden force shook the young man, forcing him to attempt his escape before the ever-growing fire reached the combustible wooden blanket he was under.

He slowly opened his tired, blue eyes, his palms painfully pressing against the cracked branches and the smouldering wooden boards of the shack. With an agonising groan, he managed to push his restraints away to free himself from the trap.

‘Shit,’ he muttered to himself.

He slid his hand to the left side of his stomach, gritting his teeth together from the shooting pain caused by the crushing remains. The young man had long, thick, black hair, tied neatly in a bun behind his head, held together with a red, steel pin shaped like a knife. He was clad in a scratched, dark-green breastplate, edged with images of two silver wolves. Both depictions were immortalised in a roar-like position towards a ruby crescent moon embedded into the collar of the man’s coat. Blood slowly ran down from a cut on his cheek, covering his light-brown skin.

As he snapped out of his dazed state, the wounded man’s ears filled with the sudden sound of steel meeting steel, followed swiftly by growls and screams, reminding him about the chaos behind him. He scrambled to find his weapon, frantically searching through the rubble until his eyes finally met his bow which had luckily remained undamaged by the abrupt clash. Acting hastily, he grabbed his weapon, whimpering as his injured torso stretched. The pain in his hand pulsed as he held the whitewood bow. He reached behind him, checking if his arrow quiver was still fastened to his back; thankfully, the red sash threaded through his quiver held strong around his chest. All he found as he reached for an arrow, though, was splintered and broken wood.

‘Shit,’ he muttered again, throwing his bow around his shoulder. His actions hit him like a mace. In his haste, he had forgotten how damaged he was. He grimaced in pain, just about stopping himself from crying out.

The sound of marching footsteps forced his attention away from his injuries. He ran, his fight-or-flight instincts kicking in. He knew he was in no state to hold his own in a fight, instead choosing to flee into the sea of trees in front of him, leaving the town, the slaughter, and the death behind. After a short, painful gallop, his injuries and fatigue caught up with him, forcing him to stop next to an ancient oak tree that stood taller than the rest of the forest, like an almighty spirit of nature. The battered archer leant up against it, resting his sore, bruised body. Looking down, he saw the blood soaking through his brown cloth trousers, leaving dots of red.

The sound of branches suddenly snapping filtered in through the trees. The wounded man fell silent as he started to panic, expecting the worst. He moved ever so carefully, trying to muster as much strength as he could. He placed himself behind the great oak, hiding in some of the large roots that stuck out from the dirt.

‘Easy, Shen, take it easy,’ he whispered, trying to reassure himself. He dared not speak any louder, fearing someone would hear. Shen lowered his body as comfortably as he could, positioning himself perfectly so he could see but not be seen. He waited in his hiding spot as the sound of snapping got louder and closer. A bead of nervous sweat ran down his face, mixing with the dirt on his chin. His heart pounding in his chest like a drum, he did his best to steady his nerves. He desperately thought of what his next steps could be; he knew he couldn’t run and certainly couldn’t fight. He lightly hit his head against the tree in frustration.

The sound of cracking and snapping wood stopped as quickly as it had started. Shen noticed the sudden void of sound. Slowly, he crept up from the tree roots to peer into the forest.

He dropped down like a frightened rabbit, clinging to the tree as a silver-armoured warrior vaulted out of the bushes, landing firmly on the forest floor. He had a mighty gold-encrusted bow in his right hand. His other hand was holding onto the nock of his arrow as it rested comfortably on the bowstring, waiting to be pulled back and released.

The silver hunter scanned the trees, searching. His armour was a magnificent work of art. A broad breastplate spanned the soldier’s torso, crisp carvings and symbols of flowers engraved along the ridges. His helm covered his face almost completely with the exception of the rectangular holes that freed the warrior’s eyesight, and the grated front for him to breathe. The helmet was smooth, pure silver, like the rest of his metallic pelt. On top of it stood a mighty dark-green plume, a symbol of his rank and prowess. The silver metal shone, augmenting the shadows of his eyes, giving the illusion that the helmet was empty.

His solid, metallic boot crunched the dried leaves and twigs on the ground. The fletching of the arrow gently brushed against his armour as he pulled back the projectile. His breaths were heavy as they came through the grating, the result of a long morning of running and hunting the town’s folk who had fled into the forest.

Shen held his position, his heart still pounding away in his chest. With no weapon and barely any strength, he knew he was at a disadvantage. It seemed his only way of surviving was to keep hidden and hope the silver menace would leave. He remained silent, listening as best he could to the steps of his adversary.

‘Captain Venturi!’ An exhausted shout came from the forest. Two more soldiers came running out from the same direction as their predecessor.

The two newly arrived soldiers looked nothing alike. Their attire was different, much like their age. The elder was taller than his younger companion by nearly a foot. His armour was simple chainmail, covered with a yellow, sleeveless tunic.

The younger soldier was no older than twenty, a small man of medium build. His brown leathers were held together at the stomach and chest with multiple clasps of iron. Steel adorned his elbows and knees. He held himself tall and proud.

The silver soldier turned to meet the two, relaxing the arrow in his bow and raising a hand to salute his comrades.

‘Eduardo, hail the Emperor, hail Vivaria,’ Venturi calmly addressed his fellow Vivarian.

The new-comers piqued Shen’s interest. He crept uncomfortably around the oak tree, trying to get a better look, ignoring the pain shooting through him. He swallowed hard, his lips and mouth dry from lack of water. He watched on as the first man walked towards his silver-clad Captain.

Eduardo’s large, bushy moustache fluttered as he smiled. ‘We have new orders, Captain Venturi,’ he informed his Captain.

‘Oh? And what are they?’ Venturi asked, curious about the drastic change.

Before Eduardo could disclose the new orders, the younger man stepped forward. ‘We are to re-group back at the town,’ the young man announced proudly, holding himself with confidence as he took over from his Vivarian comrade. ‘Commander Videll has sent some new kind of, um, splinter unit into the forest, tasked with hunting down any survivors.’

Venturi looked at the young man with interest; never had he seen a Haven man stand so boldly amongst proud Vivarians.

‘Is that so?’ the captain asked. ‘What is your name, soldier?’ His curiosity started to get the better of him as he turned to face the boy.

The Havener smiled, realising he had piqued Venturi’s curiosity. ‘My name is William, William Horn, my Lord.’ He bowed, still smiling.

‘Horn? I will remember the name,’ Venturi said, chuckling through his helmet. He turned his head back towards his fellow Vivarian. ‘Is this correct? We are pulling back?’

Eduardo nodded. ‘Yes, my Captain, we are to gather back in the town.’

‘Very well, let us return to the Commander,’ the captain replied, sounding displeased with the news. He placed his arrow back in his quiver, unstringing his bow and holding it firmly at his side.

The two soldiers stood to the sides allowing their Captain to lead the way.

As the small group slowly disappeared back into the forest, William paused, swinging his head towards the great oak tree, catching a glimpse of the hiding Shen.

The two of them stared at each other for a short time. Shen couldn’t believe he had been spotted. He wondered how long William had known where he was and stared in disbelief.

William merely smiled at the Bolaveerian, a smile that spoke a thousand words, before darting into the forest to re-join them back at the town.

CHAPTER TWO

The archer in the woods

Shen was speechless as he tried to gather his thoughts, still watching in case the legionnaires came back.

The sound of rustling leaves and snapping branches disappeared, leaving the forest silent once again.

Shen pulled himself to his feet, not wanting to waste any more time. He groaned in pain as he moved to continue his escape, ducking back into the trees and bushes. His pace was slower than before, his injuries taking their toll.

As time passed, Shen found himself by a small stream. He gasped in relief, limping towards the brook. The young Bolaveerian dropped to his knees, planting his face straight into the crystal-clear stream, gulping down as much water as he could to quench his thirst.

As Shen was enjoying the cold sensation running through his body, a sudden blood-curdling scream sent a shiver down his spine. He froze. Before he could stand up, a helpless young girl erupted into his sight, running out from the trees across from him.

She ran towards Shen, her face splattered with blood, tears streaming down her face. She tried to speak, only to gargle and splutter as she was struck from behind by a barrage of arrows. Shen watched in dismay as the girl’s eyes rolled upwards, her body falling to the ground, lifeless. He quickly snapped to his feet, turning to run, only to be faced with three Vivarian soldiers slowly walking towards him, murder ever-so-present in their eyes. Their bronze armour and yellow tunics were stained with brown and red. As they crept closer to Shen, the soldiers drew their swords, dried blood coating their steel.

Trying to think of an escape plan, Shen turned around, looking back to the murder scene only to be greeted by more yellow tunics stepping out of the forest. Shen counted four, each with a bow in their hands and a quiver strapped to their backs. He glanced down at the young girl, watching as her young body was slowly consumed by thick mud.

A tall, broad-shouldered soldier stepped forward from the bowmen, his boots squelching through the mud. His appearance was different from that of his comrades. His skin was paler, his eyes a strained shade of blue, unlike the dark-brown eyes of a common Vivarian.

‘Well, well, what do we have ‘ere, eh?’ he said ruffly. ‘What’s a tree-fucker doing so far away from his island?’ He dropped his bow, unsheathing the dagger from his belt, tossing it from hand to hand, creeping closer. The remaining soldiers watched sternly as they started to circle Shen.

‘Well? I’m waiting for an answer, aren’t I?’ the man asked, grinning and mocking the Bolaveerian, still tossing his knife from left to right. He loudly snorted before spitting on the ground.

Shen looked around, counting how many soldiers were surrounding him, and estimating how far away they were.

‘Well, fuck me, I didn’t know tree-fuckers could have blue eyes!’ the man blurted out as he stepped closer to Shen. He smiled, revealing his yellow and black crooked teeth. Shen looked at the man with disgust, turning his head slightly so as not to look at the mess in his enemy’s mouth.

‘I bet your ma was a whore, wasn’t she?’ He crept closer, pointing his knife towards Shen. ‘Opened her legs for any man that tossed her a penny, and you were the result!’ Drool was running down his lip as he spoke. The Vivarian soldiers started to laugh, making insulting gestures towards Shen.

‘Are you really the person who should be talking about whores?’ Shen’s face was still full of disgust. ‘I’m guessing that would be the only way for you to actually have a woman, you ugly, in-bred fuck.’ Shen stared at his adversary intensely, refusing to blink, refusing to back down.

The Vivarians laughed louder than when they’d laughed at their comrade’s insult.

The man in Vivarian garb became frustrated by the remark, his smile fading into an annoyed frown.

‘You’ll pay for that, you tree-fucker!’ He pointed his dagger towards Shen’s face, trying to gain back some respect. He scowled, grinding his crooked teeth.

‘Fuck you, traitor!’ Shen hissed, ignoring the dagger, spitting on the ground at the feet of his foe. He kept his gaze fixed on his adversary. The staring match lasted for a few seconds, with both men refusing to stand down.

‘Do you know what I’m going to do to you, tree-fucker?’

‘You’ve used that insult too much. Can’t you think of anything original?’ Shen smirked, trying to annoy the traitor as much as he could.

The turncoat snarled. ‘I am going to fucking skin you alive, Bolaveerian!’ A tidal wave of saliva splashed from his mouth as he yelled. ‘I’m gonna skin you alive and make a leather cape for myself!’ His eyes opened wide and he smiled as he twisted the knife in the air.

Sudden bird calls caught Shen’s attention. ‘Green sparrows, this far south?’ he muttered to himself.

‘Then I’m going to visit your little shithole island!’

The birdsong continued, echoing from tree to tree. A thought of realisation struck Shen. In an instant, he became calm, a smug look growing on his face.

‘Then I’m going to find whatever slut squeezed you out of her and show her the cape!’ The traitor continued his threat, seemingly oblivious to the smirking Shen.

The third birdsong came, the many whistles and tweets forming together. Shen dropped to his knees as fast as he could. The pain was too much for his sudden movement and he cried and cursed in agony.

The traitor stopped talking as he and the Vivarian soldiers watched with confusion, their eyes and heads following Shen’s quick movement. Suddenly, one by one, the Vivarian soldiers began dropping to the ground, struck by the arrows coming from the forest. The remaining soldiers frantically turned and twisted, hoping to catch a glimpse of their assailants. They panicked, brandishing their swords and bows. The soldiers fell until only the one Shen called the traitor remained. He cursed and panicked, his body visibly perspiring. Before long, he too fell to the ambush, gasping from the sudden pressure as three arrows pierced his chest. He fell hard, sinking into the mud.

Shen struggled to his feet, wincing from the pain and panting with exhaustion.

‘Please, tell me you’re on my side!’ Shen exclaimed sarcastically as he swayed, trying to keep himself upright.

‘What the fuck do you think?’ a familiar, gruff voice answered. A cloaked man walked out from the forest. His cape was dark green, sewn through with leaves and branches. He removed his hood and tapped his bow on the ground. He was an older man. His hair was blond, slicked back so that it did not fall in his eyes. Multiple scars adorned his white face, cutting into the thick, grey-patched blond stubble on his chin.

Shen gasped in relief.

‘Blumane!’ he exclaimed with joy.

‘‘ow bin ya, lad?’ Blumane smiled, picking up his bow and walking towards Shen.

‘Surviving,’ Shen said, limping over to meet Blumane. They slammed their forearms together, greeting each other with a firm shake.

Blumane was taller than Shen by nearly a foot, however, the two regarded each other with profound respect, a kind of respect that surpassed any physical characteristics.

‘Ya alright, lad? Ya look ‘urt.’ Blumane spoke with a thick country accent. He placed his hand on Shen’s shoulder, looking on with concern.

‘I’m fine; I got caught up in the attack but I’ll live,’ Shen reassured, putting on a brave face.

‘As long as ya’re alright, lad.’ Blumane lowered his hand from Shen’s shoulder. He swiftly placed his thumb and finger into his mouth, whistling loudly.

A small battalion of soldiers came from the forest as they heard the call. Each man wore a similar hooded cloak to Blumane.

‘What are you doing here? Last time I saw you, you were in Ashfall,’ Shen asked.

‘The General sent us to come get ya,’ Blumane replied. ‘At the moment, we’re getting as many people as we can to the river; we gorra ship waiting.’

The cloaked soldiers began to rally behind their leader as they awaited further instructions.

Blumane thrust open his cloak, placing his hands on his hips. His battered and scratched body armour hung like a monument to his status as a warrior. The rest of his armour followed suit, being heavily damaged from countless skirmishes and battles. The sigil of Haven shone proudly on his breastplate. It was a dragon’s head, closed-mouthed, with smoke flowing from between the cracks of its teeth. Underneath his armour was a dull blue tunic that was barely holding itself together from constant repairs. His leg armour fit tightly over leather trousers, yet a multitude of brown patches were showing throughout.

‘Well, it’s good to see a familiar face,’ Shen grinned pleasantly.

Some of Blumane’s soldiers knelt down by the stream, filling their leather water pouches with cool water.

‘Unfortunately, we were all ‘e could spare,’ Blumane sighed, taking out his own pouch from behind his back. He pouted as he examined the leather container. ‘Wha’ I wouldn’t give for some whisky.’

Shen looked at his grizzled friend with a hint of sadness.

‘Is Ashfall… is it still…?’

‘Fucked?’ Blumane interrupted. ‘Yes, very.’ He fixed his water pouch back onto his belt. ‘Alright, lads, five minutes then we move out. Jens, Carter, map.’ Blumane turned to his men.

The two hooded soldiers nodded. Without saying a word, they walked over to Blumane, one man pulling out a map from his side satchel and opening it for the three of them to examine.

Shen stood there, his head racing with thoughts. He occasionally glanced over at the map readers. ‘Captain Blumane!’ he called, walking over, his boots slushing through the mud.

‘Yes, lad?’ Blumane replied without looking up from his map. He and his men were pointing to different parts, discussing the right way to go.

‘Have you seen the others?’ Shen asked, expecting the worst.

‘Others?’ Blumane paused, looking up from his map.

‘You know, Anna, Len and Ace!’ Shen blurted out the names quickly. Blumane averted his eyes from the young Bolaveerian.

‘There were a few survivors we bumped into in the forest; we pointed them towards the river.’ Blumane handed Jens the map, walking slowly over to his friend. ‘But we di’n’t see um, lad, I’m sorry.’

Shen looked heartbroken. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself and hold back the tears. ‘What about Dimitri and Bull?’ Shen looked up at the grizzled Captain with his moist eyes.

‘Ain’t seen um either, lad,’ Blumane sighed. He shook his head with displeasure, placing his hands on his waist again.

Another hooded Haven soldier trudged over. ‘Captain, we need to get moving.’

Blumane nodded, acknowledging his man’s suggestion. ‘Right, lads, let’s move out!’ He signalled to the rest of his troops. ‘Jens, Carter, which way?’

‘This way, Captain,’ Jens called out. He and Carter walked towards a small gap in the trees across the brook. Blumane and Shen quickly joined them, immediately followed by the rest of the battalion.

‘Bolaveerian!’ a soldier yelled, rushing up the line towards Shen. ‘You’ll need this!’ The soldier handed Shen a full quiver of arrows, his hand bloody and bandaged. ‘I heard Bolaveerians are incredible archers.’

‘Thank you,’ Shen nodded, removing the empty quiver from his back and tossing it to the ground. He strapped the full quiver to his back. ‘That’s better,’ he whispered, smiling as he felt more like himself.

‘Ok, lads, we gorra long way to go so let’s get to it,’ Blumane roared, leading the way. ‘We need to get there as soon as, then ‘opefully we’ll catch up with Dimitri and Bull.’ He lifted his hand and clenched his fist tightly. ‘I’m sure they’re sticking it to them yellow-wearing cunts.’

‘Aye, sir!’ all the men called out in unison, picking up their pace.

‘Aye,’ Shen whispered with a confident smile. He picked up a faster pace to get to the head of the group to catch up with Blumane.

The soldiers abruptly stopped dead in their tracks as a deafening roar engulfed the forest. They paused, looking around at their surroundings.

‘What the fuck was that, Captain?’

The soldiers began to fidget and sweat from the sound. They had never heard anything like that before. Blumane and Shen looked at each other with discomfort.

‘Just keep moving!’ Blumane yelled. ‘We need to get to that ship!’

CHAPTER THREE

The three beasts

The old wooden buildings of Singertown were now nothing more than funeral pyres for the poor souls who had been trapped underneath. Corpses lined the streets as the burning continued. No one was spared. Vivarian soldiers crept amongst the dead, their yellow tunics and brown leather heavily stained with blood. Spears desecrated the dead as they made sure lifeless bodies were indeed lifeless.

Standing in the town’s church courtyard, Commander Videll watched his soldiers carry out their task. He smiled, taking pride in the heinous acts he and his men had committed. He stood tall, his crimson armour glimmering from the flames. His breastplate had detailed pectorals, and between them shone the white rose of Vivaria. A pure cream-white cape draped from his neck and a golden jewelled sword was clasped at his hip, sheathed in a golden scabbard. As he walked up along the shattered fence, he inspected his soldiers, stroking his neat goatee as he went about his inspection. His knotted hair bounced with every step.

‘My lord Comandante!’

The shout caught Videll’s attention. He turned around to see who had called him, his hand still stroking his facial hair.

Three soldiers came rushing up to the Commander, bloody and bruised with spears in their hands. Their tunics and armour were splashed with blood.

‘Si, gentlemen,’ Videll said with a silvery voice. He placed his hands behind his back, welcoming his men.

‘Gael, is it not?’ he asked the young man in front.

The soldier smiled and nodded. Each man saluted the Commander, their left hands at their sides and their right fists over their chest.

‘Hail the Emperor!’ the three Vivarians saluted in unison.

‘Hail Vivaria!’ Videll replied, smiling. He slammed his armoured fist into his chest, proudly smiling at his men’s salute.

‘What can I do for you, fine young men?’ The Commander smiled at each of the men individually.

‘All the people within the town are dead, Lord Comandante, but we are unsure how many escaped into the forest,’ Gael explained, pointing towards the trees. A small shack was burning next to the forest. ‘Should we send in more soldiers?’

‘No need,’ Videll responded quickly and with confidence. He moved his sights towards the forest. ‘In fact…’ He paused briefly. ‘I’ve issued orders for search parties to stop their hunt and re-join us.’ He started to walk, halting at the fence, watching with joy as a few of his men emerged from the forest.

‘My Lord? Are you sure about that?’ Gael questioned.

‘Enough!’ Videll dismissed him instantly. ‘My orders are final.’ He placed his arms behind his back, his armour clinking as he turned back to face his men. ‘About our… other business,’ he continued. His smile warped into a stern gaze. ‘Did you find her?’ he asked. His once-friendly demeanour had completely vanished.

‘Y-yes, my Lord. We found her.’ Gael seemed to be fighting some jittery nerves, almost forcing himself not to tremble, and instead, choosing to stand as tall as possible. The other two soldiers nervously copied their comrade’s proud stance.

‘Excelente!’ Videll exclaimed with excitement, his mood changing again. ‘He will be pleased. Where is she?’ He quickly glanced at each of his subordinates. He could feel his impatient nature bubbling in him as he witnessed his subordinates awkwardly looking at each other instead of answering him.

‘We’re holding her on the other side of the town in an old cabana next to the farms.’ Gael took an awkward step towards Videll. ‘I don’t understand why the old bruxa is so important, my Lord. This just seemed pointless.’

Videll’s expression changed again, this time into a scowl. His rage built. As a Lord within the Vivarian ranks, he did not like his subordinates questioning his or the Empire’s words.

‘We lost people, my Lord, good people, for an old woman?’ Gael seemed to forget who he was speaking to. The other two kept silent, averting their eyes.

‘Is that how you speak to your betters?!’ A powerful, unfamiliar voice suddenly bellowed from all around, manifesting into a horrific roar that echoed a thousand times in different tones that bounced back from all directions. Birds from the nearby forest fled into the sky as the air became denser and more humid.

The soldiers started to panic, frantically turning to see where the disembodied voices were coming from. Twisting in all directions, they saw nothing.

Even the soldiers in the town had heard the demonic call. They were frantically searching the buildings, trying to find something. The streets reeked of fear from the eruption of voices that had come from nowhere.

None of this even surprised Videll as he stood perfectly still with a growing evil smile, waiting. For he knew exactly who was coming.

The air cracked and snapped from a sudden red mist and accompanying lighting that materialised from nothing. The thin, red fog raged, swirling in the courtyard, an unholy storm of ill-intentions that stank of hatred.

The soldiers of Vivaria were forced to place their hands in front of them, trying to defend themselves from the harsh winds that blew.

Videll was the only man to hold his composure. He placed his fist over his chest and bowed to the unnatural, crimson storm the same way any Vivarian would bow to a superior. ‘Welcome, your Excellency!’

In a flash, the red mist thickened, forming a line, before tearing itself apart; a grim, dark-red swirling vortex took its place. The whirlwind of terror cracked with lightning and sparks at its edges that burned the ground. From its bowels came three monstrous figures. They stepped into the courtyard from their hellish doorway, giving the illusion that they themselves were scorching the earth. The vortex hissed and steamed as it started to dematerialize, further burning and scarring the ground before disappearing into thin air. The newcomers that had stepped forth were the definition of evil.

A great, hulking giant stood at the back, hidden in a tattered black cloak that barely covered his large structure. Only his three-clawed monstrous feet were visible, sickly-brown scales corrupting their flesh. They scraped against the ground with every slight movement he made. Thick, black smog fell from his hood with a low hum, enveloping his face.

The second creature was more human, if only by a small margin. He was shorter than his cloaked companion but still towered over the average man. He was coated from head to toe in dried black leather and spiked metal. His mouth, nose and throat were covered in a thick iron plating. Pipes and valves stuck out from his neck, connecting to the black, ridged breastplate that covered him. A large bronze pipe connected his chest and face, hissing slightly as he breathed. The top of his face and head were the only parts of his body that were not covered. There was no hair on his scalp but neither was it bald; sharp thorns of bone pierced through, forcing his skin to grow upwards around the irregular spikes. Pulsing black veins ran down his forehead. His pitch-black eyes scrunched up as if permanently scowling, and piercing-white pupils sat in the dark sea of his eyes, scanning the courtyard and all who stood in it.

The third led the group. He was much shorter than the two beasts behind him, barely the same size as an average person. His black skin was dry and cracking like he was suffering deeply from dehydration. Red, glowing tattoos adorned his bare abdomen. Harsh and evil symbols swirled together with ancient scripture; they seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. The only clothes he wore were a set of baggy maroon dhoti with mint-coloured embroidery running down the sides.

‘Well, is it, boy?’ The source of the disembodied voices was revealed. With every word the tattooed man spoke, he showed his black-stained fangs that flicked black saliva onto the ground with every enunciation.

The soldiers were paralysed with fear as they were unable to take their eyes off the small horns protruding out of the tattooed man’s shaved head. It seemed they could not quite comprehend what stood in front of them.

‘N-no, your Excellency; please forgive me.’ Gael bowed as he answered, his body trembling.

The tattooed man uncaringly turned to look at Videll, his teeth clicking as he flicked his sharp canines with his tongue. ‘Videll,’ he blankly addressed. It sounded as if every bone in his neck cracked as he looked up at the Commander. The ripple of the grotesque sounds made him seem even more like a walking corpse.

‘Yes, your Excellency Tyranton, High Emissary of the gods!’ Videll spoke with high prestige and respect. But behind the pretend boldness was nothing but a snow storm of fear. Sharp and cold winds constantly rattled the foundations of his confident demeanour with every second he stood in front of the Emissary.

Tyranton approached the Commander, his long, pointed toenails scratching through the dirt like an animal’s claws as his bare feet pressed down into the grass.

The cloaked creature instantly followed, keeping close to its master as if that was its only purpose. It grunted as it trudged forward.

The pale monster in black metal stood like stone. His every breath sounded agonising as if he were drowning in his own body. He reached for a rusted valve on his neck, turning it with some difficulty. Green steam hissed out of him, bursting from the copper pipes and iron vents on his face and neck. He grunted and coughed as he settled.

Tyranton stared intensely at Videll, his eyes cracking and sizzling. ‘Did you find her?’ He flared his fangs, black saliva covering his lips and flicking onto Videll’s cheek.

‘Yes, your Excellency,’ he replied. He didn’t flinch; he dared not, even as the speckle of black bile that had struck him ran down slightly. ‘In fact, we have also learned that the little group of thieves were also here, the one led by that puta madre Dimi…’

‘Bring her to me,’ Tyranton interrupted, dismissing the Commander. He merely whispered but his voice was like an explosion in Videll’s head and, just for a second, Videll swore that the Emissary’s red, soulless eyes were staring into his soul.

Videll’s composure crumbled, afraid. His eyes darted between the large humming monster behind and the ferocious master. He had heard about the power of Emissaries before - every lord